


Oh my love, my darling

by j_gabrielle



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Soviet Grandads Being Happy is my jam, Established Relationship, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: "Tell me to stop, and I will," Boris whispers.Valery shuffles forward. Gently resting his hands on Boris' ribs, feeling them expand with an inhale, he tilts his face to him. "Don't. Don't stop."





	Oh my love, my darling

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers ([which is very apt to this story so go have a listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXARHZmpgvw))

The train slows on approach to the station, and Valery does his best not to sink through his seat in terrible anticipation and dread. There aren't many fellow morning commuters in the car with him, so getting up and collecting his luggage from the rack is an ease. He takes a moment, right as the intercom announces their stop, to straighten his tie, check that the letter in his breast pocket is still there. 

What should he say when he sees him?

The letter had said nothing much except for a scrawled address and a one-way ticket on the train, and their phone call the night before to confirm his arrival and stay at Boris' had been stilted and awkward, and made him second guess the whole affair. From the moment they'd reconnected a few months back, there has been something missing; perhaps all they had, all they were to each other, was the pitch black muffled secrecy of a hotel room another lifetime ago. Maybe they've changed too much to be found familiar. Maybe what they'd had was not enough after all?

Valery knows he still loves him. Boris. He has never stopped. In the years of silence since their parting, he doesn't think he has gone a day without one thought dedicated to Boris. At night, alone in his single bed, in his lonely flat, the lingering yearning to seeing him again one day was one thing he had never allowed to manifest into hope, because hope was dangerous. Hope gets men like him killed.

 _Hello Boris_ , ah, no. That sounds too familiar, and he shouldn't presume.

 _Good Morning_ \--, too formal, Valery despairs.

The door opens. And he steps onto the platform.

The morning sunshine prickles the back of his neck. Maybe wearing a suit for travel was not that wise of an idea in the height of summer. Valery adjusts his grip on his luggage handle, ready to locate the taxi stand, when out of the unfamiliar faces, he spots him walking straight to him.

"Hello you," Boris says, eyes warm, crinkling when he smiles. There are more lines on his face, age spots too, but damn if he doesn't look as handsome as the day they'd met. His hair is pushed back in his usual style, dressed in relaxed, casual wear that has Valery's throat running bone dry.

"Hello," He manages in a rush of exhaled air. Heat rises on his cheeks, and he averts his eyes. Boris leans in, taking his luggage. 

"Let's go."

The drive back to Boris' flat is quiet save for the soft tinny of music from the car radio. For all his worries that their silences would somehow fester and weigh heavy with the distance of time and space between them, it's strangely comfortable. It makes him remember quiet evenings in an ugly hotel room with a bottle of vodka and a pack of cigarette between them. He smiles.

"Something the matter?"

Valery looks over to Boris, smile growing. "I just had a happy thought."

Boris flicks his gaze from the road to Valery, and then back again before he grins. He licks his lips, twisting his grip on the steering wheel. "Was it about me?"

"Everything is always about you," Valery replies, just as Boris takes a turn away from the main road, bringing the car to park in front of a tall stern-faced building. He levels Valery with a heavy look, the moment hanging between them, broken by the shouting of a woman at her lover across the road.

"We're here."

Boris' flat is on the third floor. Away from any prying eyes from the street. "I'm sorry it's so sparse," Boris says, unlocking the door and pushing through with a heavy creak. "It's just that I never have anyone over, and--"

"It's perfect."

Valery tucks his hands to his side, looking around. It is unfussy; a small kitchen directly at the main door with a simple table with two chairs, the windows open out to a green field that stretches out to similarly severe looking buildings, there's a door that leads to what Valery presumes is the bedroom, and it's perfect. Down to the apples in the basket on the table, the half-eaten sandwich on the plate by the sink, the little notes tacked on magnets on the fridge door. One of which was Valery's travel details circled three times.

"It's perfect, Boris," Valery turns to him. "It is."

Boris holds his gaze, eyes looking deep into his, and Valery thinks he can feel him rustling around his soul. He must have found it, because he nods slightly to himself, locking the door behind him. Leaning his luggage by a chair, he takes the two steps to close the distance between them. He pauses, slowing down as he comes close enough that Valery can smell the leather and fumes of the car on him. Two hands reach up to cup his cheeks. "Tell me to stop, and I will," Boris whispers.

Valery shuffles forward. Gently resting his hands on Boris' ribs, feeling them expand with an inhale, he tilts his face to him. "Don't. Don't stop."

Boris chuckles, lifting his glasses away from his face. Leaning back in, he knocks their foreheads together, rubbing his thumb against the corner of his jawline. Valery closes his eyes, brushing their noses together, all the worry he'd felt from earlier on fading with every breath they share. 

When they kiss, it is unsurprisingly chaste. Valery has a bubble of laughter hitched at the back of his throat. He curls into Boris again, pressing his lips to his chin, and again, to his top lip. Boris cradles the back of his head, pulling him in, parting his mouth to lick at the corner of his lips. 

Valery gasps, eyes shooting wide open. He whimpers. 

"What's wrong?" Boris asks.

"I-I'm sorry," He stutters. "I'm out of practice."

"Did you not...?"

"There's been no one. Not since you." Valery admits.

The confession draws something dark in Boris' eyes. He brushes his lips to Valery's cheek, and then pulls away. "Come," He says softly, sliding their hands together. Wordlessly, they walk to the bedroom where a tidy double bed is dressed with powder blue sheets. 

Boris doesn't let go of his hand. Not even when he closes the bedroom door. Not when he moves his to hold Valery by the side of his neck, swaying into him. "You," He starts. "You've not changed."

"We both got old," Valery huffs, amused and delighted by the way Boris is watching him.

"Yes, I know we did," Lips tease his. "So much time, too far apart from you."

"Is that why you sent me that ticket? So that I would stay?"

"Would you? Stay?"

Valery slips his hands up the muscles of Boris' back. Pressing himself chest to toes, he sighs against the side of his mouth, happiness making him giddy, whispering, "Ask me."

"Stay with me, Valera. Don't leave me again."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Later, Boris has a leg hooked over Valery's, toes flexing against his shin. Cigarette smoke curls up to the ceiling like a gossamer thread, and Valery smiles, tugging him up for a kiss.

The mid-afternoon sun casts shadows across the foot of the bed. Valery is hesitant to call it theirs, but he knows he'll soon accustom himself to calling this their pillow, their covers, their bed, theirs, theirs, theirs...

And no one can stop him from feeling the absurd amount of happiness surging through his veins.

"Happy thoughts again?" Boris murmurs, rubbing his lips at the freckles on Valery's shoulder.

"The happiest," Valery says. Stubbing out his cigarette, he crawls into Boris' arms, tucking himself under his chin. "I'm home."

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, will never, allow any reposting or translations of my works without my permission. All of my works will and shall only be hosted on my personal accounts on AO3 (j_gabrielle), Dreamwidth (j_gabrielle) and Tumblr (randomingoftherandomness, hardheartshere).
> 
> For those who say that I never said anything, it is clearly stated on my AO3 profile bio.
> 
> I do not have a Twitter account.
> 
> I do not have a Wattpad account.
> 
> **Please Do Not Repost My Fics**


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